Carissa gestured at the dog. “Let him go, Philip. We’ll see where he leads us. Just keep him quiet.”
C H A P T E R
36
As the northernmost of the Dorsaddi cities and gateway to the SaHal and lands beyond, Jarnek had once been a large and prosperous trading center. With the destruction of Hur and the enslavement of the Dorsaddi, it might have faded into obscurity except that Beltha’adi had decided to transform the existing temple of Sheleft’Ai to one honoring Khrell. That, plus the presence of numerous hot springs and baths, had kept the city alive.
But though new buildings of brick, sandstone, and even imported marble had arisen from the floor of the wide arriza at what was once its mouth, most of Jarnek still lay within the maze of narrow canyons south of that. The amphitheater, the treasury, the chieftain’s palace, and the temple, all were carved from the sheer red-and-ochre rock walls, as were businesses, houses, storage chambers … and tombs.
Newbold had led them around the face of the terraced slope on which Fah’lon’s villa perched, then down into the arriza, where the three dry wadis converged and the soldiers camped. Thankfully, they’d stayed well to the outer margins of that area, finally turning into one of the many canyons emptying into it.
Even in the dark they could feel the change, could feel the cold silence of the dead. The tombs at the canyon’s mouth were large and well spaced, with elaborate facades carved from the rock-porticos, columns, narrow jutting roofs-and all were barred by locked iron gates. These eventually gave way to less ostentatious memorials and finally to mere holes in the walls. There were hundreds of these, at ground level and above, honeycombing the cliffs in ranks of dark, empty eyes. The stench of death wrapped them like a mantle, and the silence was crushing.
The dog snuffled back and forth, tail wagging, nose to the ground, dragging Philip behind him. He had stopped trying to bay some time ago-but that was a mixed blessing. If it meant they were not so likely to draw unwanted attention, it also meant the trail was starting to go cold.
Carissa was long past exhausted. It took all her concentration just to keep putting one foot ahead of the other; each time she stumbled she could hardly save herself from falling. And it seemed she kept hearing things in the darkness around them, ghostly sighings and whispers that could be the dead or Esurhite soldiers or, more likely, Dorsaddi sentinels. They would be watching, certainly, perhaps with arrows nocked. Even Carissa knew of the Dorsaddi reputation for shooting first and questioning later.
This was truly a foolish endeavor. Did she really think they would be able to walk into an encampment Beltha’adi’s men had been seeking for days? Besides, it would be light soon, and then what would they do? Hide in the tombs? And for what?
The command to stop was on her tongue when Newbold dove left into one of the openings, dragging Philip after him. Danarin did not hesitate to follow, but Carissa stopped just outside the door. Cooper came up beside her. He didn’t even have to say anything. She could feel his antagonism, could almost hear his thoughts-echoes of those she’d just entertained-which goaded her onward.
She stepped into perfect blackness, glad again for the half-veil, since even with it to filter the air, the sudden increase of the stench almost made her retch. It took a few moments to realize that her eyes were useless here. Newbold’s excited panting and tiny whines filled the room, but she could see absolutely nothing.
“We need a light,” Danarin said. “We’re not going to get anywhere like this.”
The need was granted at once. A fist-sized orb of harsh white light materialized on the tips of Philip’s fingers, held chest high, swerving and jumping as Newbold pulled at the leash in his other hand. The orb cast eerie shadows up his face and seemed to emit a high, tooth-jarring whine. “Will this do?” he asked.
A chill crawled up Carissa’s back. He was a Terstan, marked with evil. For two years she’d traveled with him, knowing it full well, but until this moment she had never seen the reality of it.
Beside her, Cooper gaped with open mouth. Danarin scowled, tight lipped, as if he, like Carissa, were gritting his teeth with revulsion, as if he, like her, wanted to snap at him to put it out at once. But he didn’t, and neither did she, and so the youth turned and, lifting the orb ahead of him, let Newbold drag him down an aisle lined with ranks of carved-out niches that held the remains of the dead.
The aisle went on and on, finally spilling into a large, hewn chamber with two stone sarcophagi standing side by side at its midst, apparently the family patriarch and his wife. In the wall behind them were several panels of basrelief, detailing the exploits of the couple’s lives. Newbold went straight to the central panel, tail whipping back and forth, his whines interspersed now with half bays, choked off by the cloth muzzle.
“He’s found something,” Philip said, his light bouncing wildly with his efforts to hold on to the dog, who was now scratching at the door in between sniffing and trying to bay. Choked as they were, the sounds reverberated in the chamber with such intensity Carissa worried they would be heard by someone outside. If the Dorsaddi hadn’t known they were here before, they surely did now.
“It must be a hidden doorway,” Danarin said, hurrying to Philip’s side.
“If it is,” said Cooper, “it’s no doubt barred from the inside.” Newbold loosed a particularly piercing cry, and Cooper swore. “I told you to keep that beast quiet, boy?”
As if the words had somehow penetrated Newbold’s one-track mind, he backed suddenly from the door and turned to face the aisle of corpses now behind them, exploding in a fury of choked-off cries. The rest of them turned to find themselves faced with five pale-robed figures, drawn steel gleaming in the stark light of Philip’s orb. Five pairs of dark eyes glittered in dark, hard faces.
We’re going to die, Carissa thought numbly. Struck down before we can utter a word.
Suddenly Philip was thrusting the leash into her hands and striding around the sarcophagi to meet them, carrying his orb with him.
“Please,” he said in his rough Tahg. “We seek the Pretender-and the Infidel.”
He stopped a few strides from the Dorsaddi, who had not moved, beyond lifting their swords a bit. They had slings and spears, as well. And there were more of them standing in the shadows back down the aisle.
Moments ticked by. Newbold had quieted his barking, exchanging it for low growls.
Then one of the Dorsaddi stepped forward, the movement sharp and explosive. He reached out with his sword and pulled aside the neck edge of Philip’s tunic, revealing the golden shield burned into the boy’s chest. For a long moment he stared at it, then stepped closer, the sword point still pressed to Philip’s chest, and rubbed at the mark to be sure it was genuine.
“Why do you seek the Pretender and the infidel?” he asked finally in a low, harsh voice, the Tahg oddly accented and almost too fast to follow.
“I believe … the Infidel is my brother.”
The Dorsaddi eyed him sharply, then nodded and drew back, lowering the sword. He started toward Danarin.
“He is not marked,” Philip said. “None of them are. But they are friends.”
At the leader’s sign, the other men spread into the room, briskly fanning out to relieve both Cooper and Danarin of their swords, then patting them down in search of other weapons. As one pulled a blade from Danarin’s boot, another loomed up before Carissa, yanking back the veil and headcloth before she even realized what he intended.
Seeing her face and golden hair, he jerked back with an oath, eyes wide. The short, clipped, guttural words brought the other men’s heads snapping around. For a moment five pairs of eyes and narrowed brows fixed upon her, followed by an exchange of glances she could not read. Then the leader nodded, and the man proceeded to pat her down as well, hard hands sliding brusquely over her body. He found the knife at once, slipped his hand through the slits in her gown to remove it, then continued down her legs, inside and out. She burned with embarrassment, choking on the gall of her utt
er helplessness and sickeningly aware of the fact that she walked a land where northerners held no station but slavery, and women even lower than that.
At the leader’s command, the Dorsaddi closest to the panel now stepped to it and gave it two sharp raps. Something thumped behind it. Newbold backed against her leg, growling and half baying, shaking his head and trying to rub the muzzle off with a paw. She hauled up on the leash to stop him, and the panel scraped open, torch-bearing Dorsaddi spilling into the room.
Newbold went wild, lunging, straining, wriggling-frantic to get away. Then, before she could collect her wits and gain control of him, he somehow backed out of his leather collar and bolted for the open panel. Several of the men leaped to catch him and, failing that, raced after him in vain pursuit.
“Don’t hurt him?” Philip yelled after them. “He belongs to the Infidel”
But the Dorsaddi were already gone. From within the passage Newbold’s songlike bay echoed from increasing distance, then chillingly turned into a series of yelps and ended.
By the Flames! This is growing worse with every moment. What had she been thinking to let Philip talk her into this? She should have known it would never work. Now Newbold was hurt, maybe dead, and they were caught and—
She closed her eyes and refused to think of that. Meridon was with them. Newbold had followed his scent down that tunnel. If it was true he had survived Xorofin and lived with the Dorsaddi, surely he would stop them before it came to that.
What makes you think he has any authority over these men? the insidious voice of her fear demanded. What makes you think he’d even know? Or care? What—
Stop it. Stop it!
She swallowed hard and made herself breathe deeply. Hysterics would serve nothing. Above all else she must be calm. If one of these canyon men did try to take her, perhaps opportunity for escape would present itself.
A harsh voice ordered the northerners forward into the dark passage, a warm, musty draft pressing against her face. The tunnel wound left and upward. From behind came a grating noise and then a whump as the panel was closed.
Shortly they entered a small, lamplit chamber, one wall lined with waisthigh clay jars. There they were held under guard while most of the men disappeared into one of the corridors leading from the room. Moments later another man strode in, stopping abruptly at the sight of the captives. He wore a headcloth and beard, but Carissa recognized him at once, even as Newbold trotted up happily from behind-it was Meridon.
He stared at Philip in round-eyed astonishment, and the boy stared back, unmoving, both of them seemingly turned to rock. Then Philip gave a shout of joy and rushed into his brother’s arms, gripping him fiercely, the two of them nearly the same height.
Carissa found her fear momentarily forgotten as a lump rose to her throat and tears stung her eyes, her joy for them bittersweet in the sudden, wrenching realization that there would be no such happy reunion for her.
Finally Meridon released his brother and stepped back, his glance falling upon Carissa. His brown eyes widened, and once more he went rigid, but this time his face turned slowly white. Mechanically he walked around Philip and stepped toward her, stopped. “Lady Carissa?”
His astonishment turned to dismay, then outright horror. “What are you doing here?” he whispered. “You can’t be here. Not now.”
She frowned, having expected a more positive reception. Swallowing the remnants of the lump in her throat, she lifted her chin. “We have come to bring you home-or away, in any case. Though our plans are somewhat in disarray at the moment….” She trailed off, staring at him as if she might somehow see the truth in his face-that Abramm was dead and how he had died.
Meridon returned her stare, dumbstruck. Other men had followed him into the chamber during the reunion, but they had stopped just inside the opening and Carissa had ignored them. Now the Terstan turned slowly to look over his shoulder. After a moment she followed the direction of that gaze and found another northerner among them-the tallest of the lot. He was staring at her with the same horrified, thunderstruck expression as Meridon. He, too, wore a beard, thick, short, and dark gold in the lamplight. It gave him a fierce look, accentuating the hawkish cast of his nose, the dark, level brows, the intense blue eyes.
Familiarity smote her in a series of blows, harder and harder until recognition broke through the gates of her denial and pulled his name from her lips.
Abramm?”
She was not aware that either of them had moved, but somehow he was before her, looming over her. How had he gotten so big?
Tears once more blurred her vision. “I thought you were dead,” she said. “I thought-” Her voice failed. She flung her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, marveling at how hard he was, less a thing of flesh and blood than of steel and stone. The rough fabric of his robe pricked her cheek, and he smelled of sweat and dirt and horse. She hardly noticed, sobbing in earnest now, clinging to him as if he might dissolve beneath her grasp.
The storm passed, and they drew apart. Wiping away the tears, she peered up at him again. He had changed more than she would ever have thought possible. Yet he was obviously a Kalladorne. With the beard and that hawkish, imperious glare, his resemblance to their father was more pronounced than ever.
“What are you doing here, Riss?” He spoke the Kiriathan words with a strong Esurhite lilt, and even the timbre of his voice had changed-deeper, more resonant than she remembered it. The anger that sharpened his tone, however, was all too familiar. “Bad enough you were in Qarkeshan,” he went on, “but Jarnek is on the verge of war.”
“I know.” She sighed deeply, feeling light-headed. “But there was plague in Vedel so we had to go around and … It is a very long story, Abr … er … I mean, Eld …” She stopped in uncertainty, her eyes flicking over him again, snagging on the sword scabbarded at his side, the dagger in his belt.
He scowled and dropped his hands from her shoulders, stepping back and half aside. “You were right the first time-it’s Abramm. And that, too, is a long story.” He scowled at Meridon.
Carissa stared at the aquiline profile-lean and strong, with a hardness to it Eldrin had lacked. She had gone so still she could hear her own breath. You were the White Pretender?”
Her brother grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. For a moment she saw again the man who had strode so proudly into that awful arena, the ridiculous outfit utterly overshadowed by the regality and defiance of his manner. She saw again the white figure thrown by magic across the field, battered, bloodied, but staggering doggedly upright, inviting blow after blow until he had managed to shatter the arena gates and fashion a way of escape.
“There is more steel in him than anyone credits him,” Captain Kinlock had said to her. She did not think even Kinlock knew how right he was in that.
“Carissa, stop looking at me like that.”
“I saw you fight at Xorofin, Abramm.”
The grimace deepened. “Aye, well, I was very lucky. And we have other concerns-” He broke off, his brow furrowing. You were in Xorofin?”
`After Katahn betrayed me and took you, I wanted to make it right-if I could. We’ve been following the Pretender ever since….”
His expression was growing more and more aghast. Are you out of your mind?”
“Well, I have Cooper with me. And some others……
Abramm’s gaze shot to her traveling companions. He frowned and bent his head toward Cooper. “Is that you under all that, Master Cooper?”
“Aye, Your Highness.” Cooper stepped forward, bowing deeply, his earring shining in the torchlight. As he straightened, she saw that his eyes were wide and fixed upon Abramm as if he were a ghost.
And this is Philip, Captain Meridon’s brother,” Carissa said, gesturing to the youth and smiling ruefully. “We’ve shared a common goal.”
Philip bowed, too, and murmured a respectful, “Your Highness.”
Behind her one of the Dorsaddi muttered in the Tahg, “He really is a prince of K
iriath.”
Abramm’s gaze had gone on to Danarin, and Carissa’s chest constricted. All the old suspicions roared back to life, rearing out of her memory like old Chelaya from her evil swamp. Suddenly everything he’d done in the last twenty-four hours took on new and sinister significance. Danarin had known of Fah’lon’s leanings toward the Dorsaddi, had probably heard of his suspected dealings with the Pretender, as well. And he had seen Abramm in Xorofin when she had. Had he seen the truth that she had not? If Fah’lon had chosen Danarin to serve his hidden purposes, might not Danarin have also chosen Fah’lon for hidden reasons of his own? Danarin had been the one to insist they follow the trail tonight, all but threatening Cooper openly to do it.
Fire and Torment! Was it all just a ploy, all part of a plot to get himself down here face-to-face with the man he was sworn to kill? She wanted to shout and throw her body between them. But Abramm only stared at the man, a small crease etched between his dark brows, and Danarin did nothing but return the stare. She swept to her brother’s side.
“This is Danarin,” she said. “He has been our salvation-our guide and protector.”
“Then you have my thanks, Danarin,” Abramm said.
The Thilosian bowed. Unlike Cooper and Philip he did not seem overawed, merely cautious and respectful. “It has been my pleasure, Your Highness. And I am delighted that after all the lady has been through, her persistence has been rewarded.”
“Mmm.” Open suspicion colored Abramm’s expression, and Carissa felt a profound relief Evidently her brother’s experiences had burned away his naivete.
Her gaze returned to the sword hanging at his belt, its bronze hilt gleaming in the torchlight. The hand that rested upon it was still long of finger but callused and scarred. A strong hand. There was no concern in him, no bravado, only a quiet confidence and, riding that, a hint of deadly threat.